A Question of Morals
by yumi michiyo
Summary: No one told Sango understanding Miroku would be this challenging. A serial told with seven sins. Miroku/Sango.
1. One: Lust

**Author's Note: **Written for the Vice & Virtue Challenge ongoing at **mirsanficart**. Part 1 of 7. Takes place in early canon, not long after Sango has joined the Inu-tachi.

* * *

Sango scowled. As usual, he _would_ be up to his tricks again.

That monk – she seriously doubted whether he truly deserved that title – was an incorrigible flirt and lecher. That boyishly handsome face of his concealed his true character well.

Rather than wait for him, the slayer opted to leave first, supplies in hand; let him find his own way back to the camp for the night.

"Ah, Sango-chan!"

Kagome greeted her warmly from beside the fire – almost immediately afterward, her brow furrowed.

"Anou... Where's Miroku-sama?"

"Houshi-sama was occupied," answered Sango flatly. "He'll be coming back when he's finished with his _business_."

The schoolgirl sighed ruefully, not missing the emphasis on the last word. Inuyasha snorted from his seat beneath a nearby tree.

"Damned bouzu – I knew this would happen. You shouldn't have sent him with Sango."

"She hasn't fully recovered, Inuyasha!"

Sango held up a hand to dispel the impending squabble. "I am strong enough, Kagome-chan; my wounds have healed sufficiently. I don't wish to be a burden to your group by merely being idle."

"You're not a burden!" blurted out the younger girl. "You're our friend, Sango-chan – "

Stiffly, the slayer sat down beside the campfire. It still felt a little strange to be addressing them on familiar terms; her betrayal of her travelling companions remained fresh in her mind. Sango's sense of honour rankled in her. They had accepted her back unquestioningly, and she was dying to be given the chance to prove her worth in the only way she knew how; combat.

Even now, as she pretended to be polishing Hiraikotsu, Sango's thoughts drifted to Miroku. Naturally, she trusted him as she did the others; he had fought valiantly against Naraku, he had prayed for the souls of her people.

What Sango could not comprehend was the fact this good man was also a pervert who had groped her as soon as her injuries were sufficiently healed.

Miroku was a mystery; one she was determined to understand.

_Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will be victorious in every battle._

Her father's most prized possession, besides herself and Kohaku, had been a tattered copy of the great Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu's treatise on warfare; he had drummed some of the maxims into her.

Lust. Sango was absolutely certain it was one of his facets. The question was: to what degree? Enough to be a weakness?

She was startled out of her thoughts by renewed bickering. Miroku had returned.

" – and you were supposed to be helping Sango-chan with the things, Miroku-sama!" Kagome snapped.

He glanced over at her, a hint of guilt in his eyes. "Sango, I apologise."

"Don't bother, houshi-sama," she answered, gaze firmly fixed on Hiraikotsu.

Even long after she had looked away, Sango could still feel his eyes on her.


	2. Two: Envy

He approached her after dinner. Sango sat a distance off from the others, swiping at Hiraikotsu with a worn polishing cloth she produced from her bag.

"Ah – Sango?"

She did not even look up from her polishing of Hiraikotsu. "Houshi-sama. I have already forgotten it."

Her brusque, end-of-discussion tone did nothing to dissuade him, as she had hoped; Miroku smiled and sat down – a calculated distance from her.

"I am truly sorry for making you carry all the supplies. It must have been hard on you."

Sango shifted a little, thoroughly discomfited by the formal, stilted conversation he was persistent on continuing. "It was nothing. I'm used to much more; back at my village – " The slayer caught herself. "I used to, a long time ago."

He said nothing as she scrubbed furiously at an invisible spot on the bone.

"You take good care of your weapon," Miroku offered eventually, and Sango was glad for the change of topic. "It's youkai bone?"

"An agglutination; the bones of various youkai, purified of their hatred." She set it aside and getting to her feet, slung it casually over one shoulder. "It can cut through many things, like flesh, wood and some stone."

The monk nodded. "I've heard of the formidable weapons of the slayers." He fingered the smooth, worn surface. "May I?"

Sango briefly considered it – and passed it to him one-handed, a small smile playing on her face. "Sure."

Miroku took hold of the leather grip and gasped; he would have dropped the Hiraikotsu if the slayer had not took it back from him.

"It's so – heavy," he said in surprise. "Yet you make it look so effortless." The monk's eyes widened as another thought struck him. "And you _throw_ this thing around?"

She shrugged. "I've been training with it for years." Walking away, Sango threw a last parting shot over her shoulder: "Like I said, Houshi-sama, I'm used to much more." This time, she did not dwell on the ruins of her former life as she said it; happy memories of her childhood occupied her thoughts.

Miroku watched her walk away, back towards the campfire and lay Hiraikotsu down; Kagome took advantage of her return to engage the slayer in animated chatter which had Inuyasha stalking away, ears flattened to his head.

"Keh," he grumbled, scaling the tree the monk was leaning against. "Noisy wenches."

Miroku chuckled. "Admit it, my friend; you don't really mind. Kagome-sama's never been happier now she has a female friend to talk to." He glanced up at the hanyou. "I, for one, would be overjoyed. You aren't much for conversation."

"Jealous? Go join them."

He turned his gaze over to the girls; Sango was smiling, almost _laughing_, at something Kagome had said. "No – I think I'm fine."


	3. Three: Wrath

_The same dream again. Blood and bodies everywhere – sightless eyes bored through her soul. Blank stares accusing, _you couldn't save us –

– _No! _

_And Kohaku cut her open again. As she fell to her knees, dying, she watched him being shot full of arrows. He was screaming for her – _

"Sango, wake up!"

She snapped back to reality as a hand insistently shook her shoulder. Miroku was kneeling over her, his eyes wide with worry. "Sango, are you alright?"

"Y – yes – it's nothing," stammered Sango, moving away from him. Colour suffused into her cheeks. "I – I'm sorry I disturbed you, Houshi-sama – "

Miroku quickly removed his hand and moved away; she visibly relaxed. He found it almost amusing that she seemed more unsettled by his proximity than the nightmare.

"Not at all. I am quite a light sleeper." The truth was, he was amazed her muffled whimpers and moans had not been overheard by the rest of their companions. "Are you alright?"

Sango drew her knees to her chest. "It was just a dream," she mumbled into her arms; the monk was barely able to discern her words. "But still..."

"Dreams are merely manifestations of our inner fears – nothing more." He, finally indulging her embarrassment, moved away to poke the dying embers of the campfire with a stick.

She said nothing.

Eventually, Miroku broke the silence. "Go back to sleep, Sango. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

She nodded and lay back down. "... Thank you, Houshi-sama."

He watched her closely as her breathing gradually deepened – _if it had not, what would you have done then?_ asked a little voice at the back of his head.

"That was a surprise," commented a dry voice. "You didn't try to grope her at all."

"This is hardly the time for something as callous as that."

Inuyasha snickered. "So the lecher has a conscience. I never would've guessed."

Miroku closed his eyes; he would not let the hanyou goad him into anger. It was a sobering thought; did everyone only see him as the incorrigible pervert and lecher? He had known Inuyasha for a while already, and the hanyou still did not trust him. Sango... what exactly did she think of him?

The memory of the fear in Sango's eyes stayed with him.


	4. Four: Pride

Things simply were not going Miroku's way that day. First Sango's nightmare, then Inuyasha's ill-natured ribbing and now this.

The monk grunted as he swung the shakujou towards the shrieking youkai; the metal tore through flesh and bone and cut off the shriek halfway. At least there was no lack of outlets for venting.

"Houshi-sama!"

Hiraikotsu dispatched a few youkai behind him he had not had the time to face. "Thanks, Sango," he grinned. She nodded curtly and his smile slipped a little.

If Sango had been unfriendly to him before, this was downright frigid now. Miroku had long ago given up understanding women as an impossible task, but she... she both drove him to want to understand her and frustrated him into wanting to swear off them for life.

After the battle, Miroku decided to take matters into his own hands. He strode over to where the taijiya leaned, swigging water from her canteen.

"Thank you for saving me just now, Sango," he said, and watched the blush spread over her face. "Without you, I surely would have been killed."

" – it's nothing, just a few minor youkai," she answered. "I'm sure you would have done the same for me – wha...!"

While she was getting out the last few words, the monk's hand had snuck surreptitiously over the curve of her ass.

"Damned lecher!" she shrieked, not unlike the youkai he had slain earlier. Her face drawn tight with rage, Sango slapped him hard across the face.

"Can't you keep your hands to yourself – you make me sick!"

Miroku sat up, gingerly touching his stinging cheek. Inuyasha snickered. "Yeah, there it is. Took a while in coming."

"What was that supposed to mean, Inuyasha?" growled the monk.

"Exactly what it meant," the hanyou shrugged, suddenly serious. "I'd stay clear of her for a few days – I haven't seen Sango this pissed with you."

Offended pride surged up; Miroku turned away. "I don't need your sympathy."

Inuyasha's face closed off. "Too proud for that, are we?" he snarled. "Fine. See if I care. Bastard."

The monk watched miserably – the sight in his left eye was slowly being obscured by the swelling cheek – as the hanyou stalked off to join an equally stiff-backed Sango. Now they were both infuriated by him.

And the grope had not even been worth it.


	5. Five: Gluttony

This was a first, even for him, reflected Miroku morosely as he trudged on. Inuyasha led the way as usual, albeit immersed in a furious sulk. Sango marched not far behind; her stiff-legged gait was warning enough to stay clear.

Kagome walked nearby (though still out of reach), a frightened Shippou and Kirara clinging to her shoulders.

"You're an idiot, Miroku-sama," she sighed, breaking the awkward silence. "I'm sorry, but there it is."

He scowled, in no mood for the young miko's astute commentary. Her next words startled him enough to make him stop walking.

"You'd better apologize to them."

"What?" Miroku's eye twitched. "Surely you jest, Kagome-sama – look how angry they are!" What further protests he had quickly died in his throat when she glared at him.

"You_ will_ apologize to Sango-chan and Inuyasha," repeated Kagome in a steely tone. A heartbeat, and then she was beaming like nothing had happened. "Okay, Miroku-sama?"

He nodded dumbly. Clearly, Inuyasha was not the only half-demon in the group.

* * *

Miroku's head jerked up as the group prepared to make camp. "Do you sense that?"

"Yeah." Inuyasha scowled. "Something's coming... and fast."

Sango emerged from the foliage in her taijiya outfit. "How much longer before it gets here?"

An echoing roar answered her; the swarm of minor youkai burst from their surroundings and attacked.

"Easy meat," snarled the hanyou as he dispatched a handful. "Too easy."

A faint buzzing caught the monk's attention; he frowned. "Saimyoshou." He quickly closed his Kazaana and took up the shakujou.

The presence of the insects meant this attack was calculated. Miroku mentally analysed the situation as he battled. The group had no new shards, they were no closer to their nemesis' lair, the night of the new moon was a long way off – and Naraku did not know of that. What was Naraku hoping to achieve with this?

Returning to the skirmish, he realised belatedly – Sango was missing. Even though he barely knew his new comrade, the monk knew only one thing could separate her from them – Kohaku.

Trusting in his instincts, Miroku took off in a run.

Kohaku stood, head bowed, in a small clearing. Sango was considerably less composed; her fingers trembled on Hiraikotsu.

It was a terrible weakness which Naraku mercilessly exploited.

Kohaku raised his kusari-gama; Sango's jaw tightened and she moved forward –

"No! It's a trap!"

The illusion of the young boy dissolved into shouki; his sister fell back, covering her nose and mouth with her free hand. Even then, there was no way she could withdraw fast enough to avoid the poison. Miroku swore. There was only one decision, and he made it.

"Kazaana!"

He truly was a glutton for punishment.


End file.
